


Death is Not Goodbye

by rosetico



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s09e11 First Born, Gen, Guilty Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Not A Happy Ending, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetico/pseuds/rosetico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel peered at the syringe. Only a quarter of it was full. They did not have nearly enough grace for the spell. He looked at Sam. Sam did not look well. Blood ran from his nose and mouth and a little from his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This would have to do then. He started to extract the needle when Sam stopped him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sam, your body is reverting to what it was like before Gadreel. If I continue—"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do it..." Sam slurred. Castiel grimaced, and pushed the needle back in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tagged to 9x11. An AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death is Not Goodbye

Castiel peered at the syringe. Only a quarter of it was full. They did not have nearly enough grace for the spell. He looked at Sam. Sam did not look well. Blood ran from his nose and mouth and a little from his eyes.

 

This would have to do then. He started to extract the needle when Sam stopped him.

 

"Sam, your body is reverting to what it was like before Gadreel. If I continue—"

 

"Do it..." Sam slurred. Castiel grimaced, and pushed the needle back in.

 

Castiel watched as Sam seized for a few moments, before going limp. His chest heaving with each breath he took. Checking the syringe revealed that it was now half full. Deciding that he had gathered enough, he carefully placed it down and checked on Sam.

 

To say that he did not look well would be an understatement.

 

Perspiration had gathered on his face giving him a sickly sheen. His hair clung to his head, weighed down from his sweat. Blood dripped out of all his facial orifices.

 

It was not a pretty sight.

 

"Sam" Castiel said. He shook him a little. Sam did not respond, his head lolling to the side.

 

"Sam." He repeated a little more urgently. Sam gave no signs of recognition. Castiel checked for a pulse on his neck. There was one, but it was faint and his heart stuttered every few seconds.

 

Placing his fingers on Sam’s forehead, he attempted to heal him.

 

At first nothing happened. Castiel frowned and he tried again.

 

With the same result, he concluded that something was blocking him from healing Sam.

 

Castiel's first instinct was to call Dean, who was out.

 

His second was to complete the spell.

 

Leaving Sam in the chair, Castiel picked up the syringe and returned to the setup.

 

He would finish the spell, find Gadreel, kill him, and _then_ call Dean. In doing that he would ensure that Sam's sacrifice would not be in vain, he rationed. He looked over at Sam, who lay prone on the chair still.

 

Steeling himself, he emptied the syringe into the bowl and muttered a few words. The bowl burst into flames, along with the map. Soon it burned away to leave a small square. He picked up the square and left the bunker.

 

\------

 

Castiel rounded a corner and looked both ways before proceeding. He felt slightly guilty for leaving Sam alone in the bunker, but he had to find Gadreel before he moved.

 

Somewhere in the building a door closed.

 

Castiel was instantly on the alert. Listening carefully, he could discern someone talking. Walking around another corner and turning left, he entered a large room. In the center stood Gadreel and Metatron. Castiel gripped his angle blade tighter and pressed his back to the wall.

 

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Metatron said. Castiel heard him leave. Gadreel did not follow him.

 

A few moments passed before Gadreel called out, “Castiel. I know you’re there.” Castiel turned around the wall and faced Gadreel.

 

“Gadreel.”

\------

 

On the way to Missouri, Dean’s cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID, before picking up.

 

“Cas.” He greeted. Crowley glanced at him, but said nothing.

 

“Dean.” Castiel said. “I need you to return to the bunker.”

 

Dean frowned. “Why?”

 

In the background he heard Crowley saying, “What does the angel want now?”

 

“I found Gadreel, but—“

 

“Is he dead?” Dean cut off Cas and unconsciously gripped the steering wheel tighter.

 

“Yes Dean. He is dead. But—“

 

“Good. Son of a bitch deserved it.” On the other side he heard Castiel sigh.

 

“Dean. Sam is dying.”

 

Dean froze.

 

_What the hell_

 

“What is it this time?” He growled. He was partially angry with Sam for freaking _dying_ on him again. Another part of him still wanted to turn the Impala around and drive back to the bunker.

 

“Sam and I discovered a tracking spell that required Gadreel’s grace, but in the process of removing it from Sam has reverted to his state before Gadreel possessed him.”

 

Dean bit his lip. Crowley watched him expectantly.

 

“Well?” Crowley said.

 

“I’m sorry Cas. This is important.”

 

“Wait—“

 

Dean hung up.

\-----

 

Castiel sighed and paced the floor of the bunker library again. Dean was not picking up his cell phone, and Sam’s condition was rapidly declining. Castiel had attempted to heal him twice more, but both attempts failed. He suspected he was running into the same issue that Gadreel had.

 

Sam needed an angel to heal him from the inside.

 

Castiel would do it. But he needed permission from the vessel first.

 

And there was no way he was going to be able to contact Sam in time to get his permission. Especially if he was intent on dying.

 

Castiel had moved Sam from the chair and onto his bed. He lay limp on it, not having moved since Castiel removed Gadreel’s grace.

 

_Have I made a mistake?_

 

Castiel watched Sam with concern. He had wiped away the blood from his face, but the image was still burned into his mind. He placed a hand on Sam’s forehead.

 

His fever rose approximately 9.2 degrees since he had last checked.

 

_This is my fault._

 

He dialed Dean again.

 

\-------

 

Dean’s cell phone was almost constantly buzzing in his pocket. He had long ago put it on silent, though it was beginning to be hard to ignore it. Castiel hadn’t left any messages, just persistently called once every five minutes.

 

They didn’t have the blade, but Cain had given him his mark, which in theory would enable him to wield the blade’s power. It burned red on his forearm. Dean would have to research it later.

 

Fight demons now, research later.

 

And what of Sam?

 

_Later_.

 

He swung a fist at a demon. He hoped Crowley was doing something efficient.

 

\------

 

It has been exactly two hours since Castiel removed Gadreel’s grace from Sam and he has yet to open his eyes. Sam has not so much as moved from where Castiel laid him. Needless to say, Castiel was worried.

 

And he hated that he could do nothing, but sit there and watch as Sam withered away.

 

On numerous occasions Castiel tried to enter Sam’s mind and ask for permission, but all attempts were met with a closed door and a resounding no.

 

_Sam is truly intending to die. Am I going to sit here and watch it happen?_

 

A cool damp rag sat against Sam’s forehead. Castiel knew that it would do little against the ailment that Sam was fighting against, but he hoped it would help a little.

 

He turned over the rag and resigned himself to watching Sam.

 

\------

 

Sam was 90 percent sure he was dying.

 

Again.

 

He was in the forest, like last time. But there was no Dean. No Bobby. All there was was the cabin in front of him and the empty woods surrounding him. It was peaceful, enjoyable even.

 

_Do I want to do this?_

 

The log cabin stared back at him. Tempting and patient. This time he knew what lay inside.

 

\------

 

“Damnit Cas. What?” Dean growled. The demons were dead. Dean was on his way back to the bunker with the mark in tow. Crowley had vanished off somewhere to track down the blade.

 

“Dean, Sam—“

 

“What about him Cas?” Dean snapped. Castiel sighed.

 

“His condition is worsening. I fear he may... Die in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours if we do not find a cure.”

 

_Damnit Sam._

 

“Find one then.”

 

Castiel hung up.

 

\------

 

The cabin was the same on the inside. A cozy fireplace and by it, sat the one and only, Death.

 

“Sam.” Death greeted. “We meet again.”

 

Sam snorted.

 

“About that deal earlier...”

 

\------

 

There were no lore books or research to be done on the effect of the trials, as any living man had never completed them. Sam would have been the first.

 

_No. He will live._

 

Castiel kept looking. Perhaps if not for Sam’s sake, but for his.

 

\------

 

“It’s still on the table.” Death said. His voice was calming. Always level.

 

“I’ll take it.”

 

Death raised an eyebrow and stood.

 

\------

 

Dean entered the bunker in a flurry.

 

“Cast?” He called.

 

“Here.” Cas replied. He was holding a thick book.

 

“Where’s—“

 

“Sam is in his room.”

 

Dean started towards his room as Cas yelled, “I feel his soul diminishing.” He heard Castiel follow closely behind him

 

\------

 

“Are you ready?” Death asked. He extended a hand, the other one resting on his cane.

 

Sam swallowed.

 

\------

 

“Dean. I need to send you inside Sam’s head. Perhaps you can convince him to...” Castiel looked at Sam.

  
“Do it.”

 

\------

 

“No running away this time.” Death warned. Sam inhaled shakily and wiped his palms on his pants.

 

Death extended his hand, like a friend would.

 

Sam took it.

 

\------

 

Castiel and Dean watched in horror as the cabin glowed a brilliant white light. Both shielded their eyes, as the light only grew in intensity.

 

When Dean and Cas looked up, the cabin was gone.

 

\---Fin---


End file.
